The Awakening
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: Boromir in Avallone with Gandalf and Frodo, prequel to 'The Return'. Unfinished.
1. Eressea

"Frodo."

The Ringbearer looked up from the brightly colored lure bobbing on the silvered surface of the pool to see something he hadn't for many years – Gandalf looking worried.

"Is something wrong?" He asked instantly, and realized almost as soon as he spoke that it was a silly question. They were in Eressea, the Lonely Isle, Westernmost of Mortal Lands under the direct protection of the Powers. What could possibly be wrong here?

But for all that Gandalf's reassuring smile showed definite signs of strain; "No, no of course not. Just something you should see."

Puzzled and uneasy Frodo laid aside his fishing pole and followed the wizard upstream. Woodland gave way to a verdant rolling meadowlands starred with flowers of Elanor and Niphredil. Cradled in those gentle hills was a clear blue jewel of a lake with a graceful swan boat to carry them, without sail or oar, to a small green islet where stone steps led up to an open pavilion, its lacy white dome upheld by slender columns.

Gandalf came to a full stop on the top step. Frodo hesitated, looking up, and the wizard nodded him forward. A low couch stood beneath the dome, dappled with sunlight, and a long figure lay still upon it - dead or sleeping.

Frodo, soft footed, drew closer then gasped in recognition. "Boromir!"

"Yes, Boromir," Gandalf agreed heavily.

The Ringbearer shot him a quick look over his shoulder, then reached out to cautiously touch one of the folded hands. It was warm, and the chest beneath moved softly with the Man's breathing. Frodo whispered wonderingly: "He's alive."

"And soon he will awaken."

The Hobbit looked back at the wizard and was shaken by the grief in his face. "Why is that bad?"

Gandalf closed his eyes and bent his head wearily against his staff for a brief moment before coming forward to stand at the foot of the couch. "Our friend suffered much in his life," he said heavily, "especially toward its ending, he needs peace and healing."

"Isn't that why he's here?"

"No." Gandalf answered quietly. "He is here to prepare for his return to Middle Earth."

Frodo looked from the wizard to his sleeping friend and back again. "But - but I thought that wasn't allowed?"

"It isn't usually." Suddenly Gandalf flashed into anger, stamping his staff on the stone pavement. "Boromir has done enough! It is grossly unfair to ask more of him." His anger passed as quickly as it had come, fading into bitter resignation. "But what other choice do we have? if not him then who?"

"Gandalf," said Frodo, "please, what is going on? What are you asking Boromir to do and why is it so terrible?"

Gandalf sighed and drew a chair woven of ivory hued withy-wands nearer to the bedside and sat down. "In every age, Frodo, the Lords of the West have sent forth emissaries to fight the Shadow in Middle Earth. I was one such, now Boromir has agreed to become another."

"But I thought evil was ended!" Frodo cried in dismay. "Sauron was destroyed with his Ring - wasn't he?"

"Of course he was." Gandalf reassured him. "But though Sauron is forever fallen the Shadow remains. Arda was marred from its very beginning, Frodo, by the malice of Morgoth and its healing is beyond the power of the Valar." he looked at Boromir, lying on the couch beside them, "But not the power of Men."

"I don't understand." the Ringbearer said bewildered. "How can Men be more powerful than the Valar?"

"Because of all the creatures of the world they alone are not bound to it or to its fates." the wizard explained. "And in that freedom lies the power to alter or unmake the designs of the Valar, of Morgoth, perhaps even of the One himself. Men will be the saving of us all in the end - or our destruction – and not even Men themselves can say which it will be."

"Oh." said Frodo in a small voice. Then, firmly: "I trust Aragorn."

"So do we all." Gandalf agreed. "But that's not to say he couldn't use a little help."

"That sounds like something Boromir would want to do." Frodo said slowly. "So why does it make you so sad?"

"Because he will be returning to trouble and strife and sorrow and pain, ending in a second violent death!"

"Oh." Frodo thought about that for some minutes. "I don't think he'll mind." he said finally.

"I know he will not." Gandalf actually glared at the unconscious Man. "But *I* mind on his behalf! He has been misused enough - we have no right to lay this further burden upon him." Then he sighed and smiled wearily at Frodo. "I thought you might want to be here when he wakens, perhaps there are things you would like to say to him?"

"Yes to both." Frodo answered, and dragged up a second chair.

Frodo had been on Eressea long enough to know an Elf or a Maia's idea of 'soon' wasn't anything like a Hobbit's so he wasn't surprised when teatime and dinnertime passed without sign or stir from Boromir.

As suppertime approached he began to worry about Bilbo - who surely must be wondering what had become of him. He was trying to think of some way to send word to his uncle, (why was there never an Elf around when you really needed one?) when suddenly, without fuss, Boromir opened his eyes.

He squinted as he focused on the wizard. "Mithrandir?"

Gandalf leaned forward, forestalling with a firm hand Boromir's attempt to raise himself, "Lie still a moment, it will take time for your strength to return."

The Man's eyes wandered past him and widened at the sight of the Hobbit. "Frodo?" then he was struggling to sit up, pushing aside Gandalf's efforts to restrain him and grasping eagerly at Frodo's hand. "Forgive me, Ringbearer! I failed you, the Fellowship and the quest. I am truly sorry for it."

"It was the Ring," Frodo replied, tears streaming down his face, "it wasn't your fault."

Boromir's response to that was unexpected he gave the Hobbit a look almost of exasperation. "Of course it was!"

"It was." Gandalf agreed, and got an angry look from Frodo but an almost pleased one from the Man. Standing, staff in hand, by the bed he said to Frodo: "Boromir is right to take some of the blame upon himself but there are others more guilty than he, myself not least among them."

The Mortals exchanged a bewildered look. "I do not understand." said Boromir in the resigned tone of one who'd found himself saying those words all too often.

"We who call ourselves the Wise saw your peril and did nothing to help." the wizard told him bleakly.

Boromir shook his head. "That is not true. I see now that both you and the Lady of Lorien tried to warn me but I would not listen."

"Words!" Gandalf stamped his staff impatiently. "What we did _not_ do was the one thing that would have saved you - sent you away."

"That's true," Boromir said slowly, "and it would have spared Frodo as well. Why didn't you?"

"Because we needed you, the quest needed you. Your weakness as well as your strength," Gandalf's voice was weighted with sorrow and shame. "We used you, my friend, to your own hurt."

"I see." Frodo said suddenly. "It was _my_ fault!" Wizard and Man looked at him in astonishment as he continued; "The Lady warned me too, she said the Ring would destroy my companions one by one. I knew I had to leave you all, but I was too afraid. It wasn't until I actually saw the Ring take you, Boromir, that I found the courage - or the desperation - to do what I must. If I had been stronger -"

"This is folly!" the Man interrupted flatly. "Whatever others may have done or left undone the sin was mine and so is the blame!"

"If a soldier sees his comrade matched against a foe beyond his strength and turns away rather than coming to his aid, has he not done wrong?" Gandalf asked gently.

The metaphor was well chosen. Boromir considered it for some moments before he answered at last: "Yes. But there are some battles that must be fought alone. I lost mine."

"No! no, Boromir, you won!" Gandalf protested, "A victory unexpected and unlooked for. In all my long years I have known only one other Man who did the like."

"I wish I could see it so." He raised a hand to forestall the wizard's retort. "Please, Mithrandir, I am neither philosopher nor loremaster but I know what I know and I am very tired of arguing the point!" he turned to Frodo with a sudden grin. "And I find myself very hungry."

The Hobbit grinned in return. "I can do something about that. You're just in time for supper and my Uncle Bilbo's the best cook in the Four Farthings."

...

Bilbo was bustling around his kitchen, peeking into the oven and assorted bubbling pots to see everything was cooking evenly and setting the table for two, when he heard the front door open and hurried out into the hall wiping his hands on a towel.

"There you are at last, my boy -" he began, then he saw the white robed wizard looming behind Frodo and broke into a delighted smile. "Gandalf! what a nice surprise, we don't see nearly enough of you these days!" Bilbo peered inquisitively past the wizard at the second tall white clad figure. "And who is this then?" Before anyone could answer the elder Hobbit blinked, took a second harder look and his mouth fell open. "Boromir of Gondor? but you shouldn't be here!"

The Man laughed. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo blushed. "I beg your pardon! You're very welcome of course - but I thought Men weren't allowed here. I mean the drowning of Numenor and all that business..." he trailed away helplessly.

"Mortals are not permitted to set foot in Aman," Boromir explained kindly, "Eressea, as you know is a different matter. In any case it was the Powers themselves who brought me here, so the responsibility is theirs."

"It is indeed." Gandalf agreed grimly.

...

"So this is a Hobbit hole." said Boromir some little time later as they sat over their wine, wizard and Hobbits puffing contentedly at their pipes. "Did you built it yourselves?"

"Oh my no!" Bilbo laughed. "The Elves delved it for us, according to our specifications of course." He beamed contentedly around his dining room with its highly polished wainscoting, the dark oak dresser displaying fine painted china and silver, and a big round window looking out over his little flower garden.

"Everybody has been very kind." Frodo said seriously. "They've really gone to a great deal of trouble -"

"Indeed they have!" the wizard interrupted, eyes twinkling. "The entire island revolves around these two. Why even the weather is arranged to suit them!"

Frodo blushed. "All I did was say that I missed rain. I never meant they should do anything about it!"

Boromir laughed heartily.

Gandalf smiled kindly at Frodo. "The Elves enjoy doing things for you and Bilbo, it gives them an interest in life. Don't hesitate to ask for anything that strikes your fancy - no matter how extravagant it may seem." He glanced at the Man. "And that goes for you too, Boromir. If you think of anything, anything at all, that might make you feel more comfortable here you have but to ask."

"Thank you, but I was told I wouldn't be staying long."

Now it was Frodo's turn to laugh. "Trust me, Boromir, Elves and Maia don't measure time as we Mortals do. You're likely to be here much longer than you think."

"You must stay with us." Bilbo offered hospitably. "We have a Man-sized guest room just down the hall."

"Thank you, but I'm not sure what arrangements have been made for me." Boromir looked uncertainly at Gandalf.

"I see no reason why you shouldn't stay with Bilbo and Frodo," said the wizard, "in fact it would be very suitable - but be careful of your head!"

"I will." the Man promised with a smile.

"As for how long you'll be here," Gandalf continued, "that depends on the judgment of the Powers. They will send you back when they deem the time is ripe." the sadness came back into his face. "And that will be very soon as we measure it – though Frodo is quite right to say it may seem longer to you, a year or so perhaps, or maybe a little more."

The homely aroma of pipeweed floated incongruously down the shining halls of Ilmarin until it reached the nose of Varda sitting among her handmaidens listening to the music of Elven bards. Her radiant brow creased in a troubled frown and she rose. Gesturing for her companions to continue their pastime she followed the scent up the terraced levels of her house to the great pillared chamber, open to the airs of Arda, at the very pinnacle of Mount Taniquetil.

Varda looked sadly at the hunched figure wrapped in a blue cloak sitting on the lowest step of the High Throne puffing gloomily at a long stemmed pipe and said gently: "Try not to grieve so, Beloved. The Man has made his choice, he wants to go."

"To atone for a sin he would never have committed had I not tried him beyond his strength." Her spouse answered bleakly.

"Yet he proved stronger than you deemed in the end." she reminded him.

"And as a reward we lay yet another, heavier burden upon him." Manwe Sulimo, who had been called Gandalf the Grey in Middle Earth, retorted bitterly.

Varda sat beside him on the step, her starry robes drifting about her, and folded one of his gnarled old hands in her own smooth white one. "A burden you yourself bore for nigh on an Age of the World." She reminded him. She studied her spouse thoughtfully. "And I think the Man's reasons are not so different from yours, Beloved."

He frowned at her then smiled wryly. "A case of the pot calling the kettle black, as they say in the Shire! You have me there, Dear Heart. Boromir is not the only one to have erred and feel a need for atonement."

"Or to take over much blame to himself," said Varda.


	2. Shadows of the Past

"But others *were* stronger, Frodo." Boromir said, absently pulling the petals from a flower of elanor and throwing them into the little brook chuckling at their feet. "Aragorn, my brother Faramir, you -" he broke off startled as the Hobbit jerked abruptly to his feet and stalked a pace or two away to stand with his back to the Man, his fists clenched.

"Me!" Frodo gave a bitter laugh. "You're wrong there, Boromir. The Ring took me just as it took you. At the very last I couldn't throw it away. I failed, it would all have been for nothing if Gollum hadn't bitten the Ring from my hand, finger and all. Sauron would have won."

"Frodo -"

"And don't you dare say it doesn't matter!" he whirled back to face the Man, eyes blazing behind a film of unshed tears. "That's what Gandalf and Elrond and Galadriel keep telling me. They're wrong! I gave in, after all those months fighting the Ring's power I surrendered just when it mattered most!"

"Remember, Frodo, I lost my fight too," Boromir said gravely.

"It's not the same."

"No indeed. You resisted far longer than I." the Man got up and knelt before the Hobbit, his hands on Frodo's shoulders blue eyes looking steadily into blue eyes. "Perhaps you did fail at the last, Frodo Baggins," he said solemnly, "but of this much I am certain; no Man or Elf or other speaking creature in all of Middle Earth could have done more. You are the strongest spirit I have ever known. If you could not do it - than nobody could."

Frodo's head drooped. "I don't feel strong," he said in a small voice to his furry toes, "I feel empty, and sick and sometimes even Eressea seems grey and bleak."

"I know." Boromir said unexpectedly. "Oh I know that feeling, only too well."

Frodo looked up at him, startled. "You've felt it too?"

"Many times." the Man smiled but his eyes were haunted. "All warriors feel so after a hard fight. Win or lose, you look around at the wreckage and the dead and you wonder if even life is worth this price."

Frodo's eyes widened with surprise and a new understanding. "That's how you felt when you came to Rivendell isn't it? Grey and hopeless like I do now," he shivered. "No wonder the Ring fixed on you."

"I was in darkness, Frodo, that's why the Ring called to me. To fail in hope is to open yourself to Evil. I should have known better."

"You're not the only one. Sam had to remind me there was such a thing as Good, and it was worth fighting for. And that the sun would shine again."

The Man smiled. "Sam is a very wise Hobbit."

Frodo smiled back. "He is. You call me strong, Boromir, but I wouldn't have made it without Sam." The smile faded. "I put him through hell, and at the last I failed him. If it hadn't been for Gollum..." his eyes filled with tears. "You never saw him, Boromir, he was horrible - and pitiful. And the worst of it was the Ring hadn't quite destroyed him. There was still a little crack of light, but not enough to save him."

"I never saw Gollum but I have seen Hobbits as well as Men in the Halls of Waiting on the Last Shore." Boromir answered quietly. "If healing is possible for him he will find it there."

"I hope so, oh I hope so." Frodo closed his eyes, but tears trickled from beneath the lids. "That's why I'm here in Eressea, to be healed." opened his eyes. "I'm still not free of it, Boromir, even though it's destroyed. Sometimes I'm afraid I never will be."

The Man pulled him closer into a comforting embrace. "You've taken a sore wound, Frodo, one that will take a long time to heal. You must be patient and hold to hope. You will be whole again, I know you will."

"I try to believe that, but it's not easy." He pulled away a little and frowned at the Man. "How did we get onto me? We were talking about you punishing yourself for things that weren't your fault."

"I broke my sworn oath to you, Ringbearer, and that was my fault."

"You expect too much of yourself." Frodo said sternly.

"No more than other Men have done," Boromir answered.

"Other Men weren't tried as you were. It wasn't you who attacked me, Boromir, it was the Ring. Blame yourself for giving in to it if you must, but not for what it made you do."

"It comes to the same thing, Frodo. By my weakness I endangered the quest, and you, and broke my sworn word."

The Hobbit disengaged himself from the man, throwing himself down wearily on the grass, his head pillowed by a hummock. "And you're going to go on torturing yourself over it no matter what anybody says." Frodo said bitterly.

"No. No, Frodo," Boromir protested, "I'm trying to heal just like you." He looked quizzically at his small friend. "I know Gandalf regards return to Middle Earth as some kind of punishment, but I didn't expect you to feel the same."

"He says you're going back to war," Frodo answered. "He says that they'll kill you again. It's not fair."

Boromir moved to sit cross-legged beside the Hobbit. "I was bred for war, Frodo, it's not my fate or my nature to sit in peace in Eressea or anywhere else."

He looked around the little glade, at the leaves dancing on the boughs overhead and the green sward starred with elanor and the clear brook sparkling in the sunlight, and he shook his head. "This is not for me. I will find no answers here. Frodo, the One would never have let me go if it wasn't the best thing for me. Trust His judgment if you won't trust mine."

"Good advice." observed a voice behind them, "and not just for Hobbits."

"Gandalf!" Frodo rolled to his feet and ran to hug the wizard who put an affectionate arm around the Hobbit but his eyes continued to rest thoughtfully on Boromir.

"You have grown wise, my friend."

"Not really, but I have learned some things I think." The Man answered modestly.

"Indeed you have." Gandalf came and sat down at the brook side between the two Mortals.

"That's another good thing about having you here, Boromir," Frodo grinned. "We haven't seen this much of Gandalf since we came."

"I'm sorry about that, Frodo." the wizard apologized. "I've been away for a long time and there were many things that needed seeing to. I'll try to do better in the future."

"I was just joking, Gandalf." the Hobbit said quickly. "I'm sure you have much more important things to do than visit with Bilbo and me."

The wizard pursed his lips thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe that I do." He smiled down at Frodo. "You and Bilbo are very important to me." Then he raised his eyes to Boromir's. "As are you, my friend."

….

"It seems to me the Valar are so quick to forgive because they expect little better from a mere Man." Boromir said drily.

"No!" Gandalf stamped his staff for emphasis. "I cannot deny we have been guilty of such thinking in the past but I promise you we have learned better. We do not forget it was a Man who threw Morgoth from his throne and wrested a Silmaril from his crown.*1 A Man who defied him to his face in spite of all torments.*2 And a Man who saw through his unlight and tracked him to his lair at the End.*3" The wizard's staff had sunk deep into the soft loam under the flowering boughs of Eressea's fair orchards and he had to tug hard to get it loose.

Boromir laughed at the sight then sobered to say: "I don't deserve to be named in the same breath as those great heroes, yet I accept your apology on behalf of all Men."

"You have more in common with one at least than you think." Gandalf answered. "I told you I had known only one other Man who'd freed himself from Darkness unaided, and that was Urin."

Boromir stiffened in outrage, eyes flashing. "I am nothing like him! Urin wrestled with the will of the Dark Lord himself and won. My struggle was with a mere instrument and I lost."

The wizard looked at him thoughtfully. "So that's it," he said half to himself, "stupid of me to assume you understood." he shook his head. "Boromir, the Ring of Power was no mere 'instrument' it had will and purpose and power of its own, the power of Sauron himself that even I feared. Why do you think I reproach myself so? I left you to fight alone against a foe I dared not face."

The Man was shaking his head in confusion. "But it was just a ring." *4

"Just a ring!" Gandalf cast his eyes upward, "Eru give me patience! It was the One Ring, forged by Sauron and invested with all his strength and his malice!"

Boromir stared disbelievingly. "But if that was so - Frodo! Mithrandir how could you do such a thing to him?"

"Not willingly, not at all willingly." the wizard answered unhappily. "He was our only hope, Boromir, with his Hobbit innocence and his Hobbit strength. But remember he offered freely to take the burden – I would never have allowed it else."

"I do remember." the Man agreed quietly. "And you're right no other could have done what Frodo did. Certainly not I."

"Frodo at least consented to his danger. You didn't even know your peril. The Ring sensed your vulnerability -"

"My weakness you mean." Boromir interupted

"Oh very well! 'weakness' if you will have it so." the wizard snapped impatiently. "But no strength would have availed long against that foe. You were pitted against a will far older and more powerful than your own, Boromir, there could be only one ending."

"And yet you claim I somehow freed myself from this great power?" the Man shook his head. "I think you contradict yourself, Mithrandir."

Astonishingly the wizard smiled. "You are fogetting, as I did, the Gift of Men. You are not bound to this World or to its Fates. It was the Freedom of Men that saved you, my friend. You turned aside from the path laid down for you and made a new destiny for yourself, even as Urin did long years ago."

"Great is the power of Morgoth, yet I am the master of my own hands, my own mind, my own deeds." Boromir quoted softly. "And I choose not to be his thrall."

"Exactly," Gandalf agreed quietly, "just as you chose not to be a tool of Sauron."

"Pity I didn't do so a bit sooner and spare Frodo a bad fright." Boromir said grimly.

"No, no, my friend!" the wizard answered emphatically. "Had Frodo not fled from you both he and the Ring would certainly have fallen into Saruman's hands and all would have been lost. Your 'weakness', as you are pleased to call it, saved the quest."

"That the One can turn even wicked folly to his service makes it no less evil." the Man answered.

Gandalf threw up his hands in despair. "You are the second most stubborn Man I have ever known!"

Boromir had to ask. "Who is the first?"

"Aragorn." the wizard answered and the Man laughed.

Gandalf glanced at the sun. "Nearly teatime, we'd better get back to Bag End or Bilbo will send Frodo to find us. As they turned their steps homeward he continued. "I am very pleased with Frodo, finally he is making some progress." He gave a sharp, sideways glance at the Man. "You have something to do with that I think."

Boromir shook his head. "You give me too much credit. Frodo has strength and courage enough for any need he just had to be reminded of it."

"I think you do yourself too little credit, in this as well as greater things." the wizard retorted. "However you did it, you have helped Frodo."

"And he has helped me," said Boromir.

…

_1. Beren of course, with Luthien's help, but that doesn't make his role negligible. I think it's pretty clear neither would have gotten far without the other._

_2. This is Hurin Thalion of course._

_3. And this is his grandson Urin, son of Turin and Nienor (warning! fanon!) *nothing* about him is canonical. (see note below)._

_4. Boromir always thought of the Ring as an inanimate object, a thing of power tainted by its association with Sauron (like the Palantiri) but not an active agent of evil. This failure to recognize the Ring's agency undoubtedly contributed to his fall - and his guilt. He never realized he was being influenced by an outside force and was too ashamed of his treacherous temptations to confide in Gandalf or Aragorn. _

…_._

Appendix: On Urin son of Turin.

As those who've read the Histories of Middle Earth will know in the earlier drafts Turin's story is given an odd ending in which he becomes a redeemer figure who will return from Death at the End and, with his Black Sword, end Morgoth's evil forever. Needless to say this makes very little sense as Turin was Morgoth's dupe and tool throughout his life which he ended himself in a fit of despair, (mortal sin according to Catholic doctrine). Thus my invention of Urin, son of Turin and Nienor, and doubly doomed both by the curse of Morgoth and by his incestuous begetting.

Urin was but two months old when his parents killed themselves. Mablung, Thingol's captain, took the infant, the Dragonhelm of Hador and the shards of the Black Sword back to Doriath where Hurin found him. He consented to stay in Menegroth with his grandchild but just a few years later Thingol was slain and his realm laid in ruins by the Dwarves of Nogrod. Hurin blamed himself and the curse of Morgoth that lay on him and his kin so he took his grandson to live away from Men and Elves on the banks of the Teiglin near the Stone of the Hapless where the rest of their family was buried.

He died when Urin was fourteen. Left alone the boy decided to go to the only kin he had, Tuor and Idril hundreds of leagues away at the mouth of the Sirion. He stayed with them for five years, helping raise his younger cousins Earendil and Elwing, but when he was nineteen Elwing showed him the Silmaril and it burned his hand when he touched it.

He knew this for a sign he was unclean and accursed and despairing resolved to carry the curse back to its source, to challenge Morgoth as Fingolfin had – and die. He had the Black Sword of his father reforged and started North but stopped at the Stone of the Hapless to bid his family farewell and as he knelt there it suddenly came to him that his despair was from Morgoth and by acting on it he was doing his will.

It was then he spoke the words Boromir quoted, "Great is the power of Morgoth, yet I am the master of my own hands, my own mind, my own deeds. And I choose not to be his thrall." Urin spent the rest of his life acting on them.

Morgoth's curse worked by using the passions of its victims against them; Morwen's stubborn pride, Turin's impulsiveness and hot temper; Hurin's grief and anger over the hard fates of his kin. Urin mastered it by mastering his despair. By finding hope and holding hard to it in the face of all obstacles and all temptations to give in.

He learned also to control the hot temper and impulsiveness he'd inherited from his father Turin, to consider his actions and their consequences carefully and never to act out of anger. Turin killed a number of people he shouldn't have; Beleg, Brandir, himself. His son spared some he had good reason to kill, even at the last Morgoth himself.

Urin rescued his young relatives, Elros and Elrond from Maglor after the fall of the Havens and took them to live with the Mortal survivors in the fens of Lisgardh at the mouth of the Sirion. As the senior living descendant of the three Fathers of the Edain he led the remaining Men of Beleriand in their guerilla war against Morgoth, allied with the remaining Sindar and Laiquendi.

In Urin the Maiar commanding the Host of the Valar, and their Masters, saw for the first time the power of the Gift of Men and finally realized the Second Children were not just a feeble and rather unnecessary imitation of the Elves but the only hope for the final Healing of Arda Marred.

Urin and his Men fought beside the Maiar, Vanyar and Noldor of Aman in the War of Wrath and, as Gandalf says, it was Urin who tracked Morgoth to his final hiding place dispite all the Vala, once the mightiest being in Arda, could do to stop him. But Urin didn't strike Morgoth down, though he might have. Because, he said, he'd never yet slain any creature who cried for mercy and would not start now.

And it was a good thing Urin did hold his hand for if he hadn't Morgoth, disembodied, might have succeeded in escaping and hiding himself, as Sauron and others of his fallen Maiar did, but trapped in physical form he was taken prisoner and banished to the Void beyond the Walls of Night.

Elros married Urin's firstborn daughter, Indil (which means Lily). His two elder sons went to Numenor where the younger became Lord of Andunie and the older Lord of Hyarnumen. But Urin himself remained in Middle Earth crossing over the Ered Luin with his wife and remaining children to spend the rest of his life, lengthened far beyond the normal span, in Eriador.

He settled at the foot of the Weather Hills and his descendants were Princes of the Midlands, largest of the little principalities and lordships that made up Old Arthedain. Thousands of years later the Numenorean and Eriadoran lines were reunited when the last heiress of Hyarnumen fled Numenor with the Dragonhelm after the execution of her father and brother and married her distant kinsman the Prince of the Midlands, who had inherited the Black Sword. The House of Turin, descended from them both, still survives in the Ranger Wardens of the Weather Hills.


	3. Conversations on the Doorstep

Gandalf studied the Hobbit sitting beside him in front of New Bag End, puffing pensively at his pipe, and was pleased by what he saw. There was a bright eyed jauntiness about Frodo these days that reminded him of the merry, mischievous Hobbit lad he'd once known. "Boromir's presence has helped you, I think."

"Yes it has." Frodo looked up at him, blue eyes clear. "He's completely free of the Ring, doesn't dream about it or long for it, he gives me hope that someday I will be free of it too."

"You will, Frodo." the wizard promised, "but the Ring's hold on you went far deeper than its grip on Boromir. It will take time."

"I understand that. The important thing is now I really believe I can get well. It makes the waiting easier to bear."

"Hope is the best medicine there is." Gandalf said softly, almost to himself.

But Frodo's face clouded. "When we were talking the other day Boromir said something rather awful," he shot a quick, reassuring smile up into the wizard's suddenly concerned face, "not about me, about himself. And it's been haunting me ever since. He said he was never meant to sit in peace anywhere and it doesn't suit him. I remember Aragorn saying something like that once too." his voice trailed off as his brow creased in thought.

"And it troubles you." Gandalf prompted.

"Yes. It seems a sad and terrible thing to say, to believe about yourself."

"To me too." the wizard agreed. "But I fear it's quite true." he sighed. "There is a restlessness in Men a longing for something not even they can name, that makes it impossible for them ever to be truly at peace - at least within the Circles of the World." And now it was Gandalf's turn to sink into reverie. "Perhaps that's why Ulmo has always understood them so well. He too never knows rest, or even desires it."

"It doesn't seem fair." said Frodo.

The wizard roused himself to give the Hobbit a sharp look. "Eh? It's not a question of fair or unfair, Frodo, it is the nature given to Men by the One. And it's not altogether a bad thing," he continued musingly, "because of that restlessness of theirs they can not only bear, but even thrive, on lives of strife and danger." He sighed resignedly. "But it can be perilous too if they should set their wills on something they cannot and must not have."

"I'm glad Hobbits aren't like that." said Frodo and got another sharp, sidelong glance from the wizard. "Aren't they?"

"No, of course not -" Frodo began then stopped, suddenly uncertain.

Gandalf smiled. "The restlessness sleeps in you, as the sea longing sleeps in the hearts of the Woodland Elves, but it can be wakened." His eyes twinkled. "How else could I have gotten a settled, respectable, middle aged Hobbit to go off Dragon hunting with a band of Dwarves?"

Frodo laughed. "Bilbo is special."

"He is indeed, but not unique."

"When I was a boy I used to dream of grand adventures in faraway places." Frodo admitted and smiled wryly. "Well, I got my wish didn't I? And serves me right the Gaffer would say!"

"I'm sorry, Frodo."

"It's not your fault. Even if you did practically shove Bilbo out of the door he could have turned around and gone home right up to the gates of Erebor itself - but he didn't. And I decided to take the Ring to Mount Doom. You were against it I know."

"Only because I knew what the quest would do to you, Frodo." Gandalf sighed. "But I also knew you were our best, indeed only hope. If you were willing I had to let you try."

"And I did try," the Ringbearer said softly, "even if I failed at the last." The wizard opened his mouth to reply and he shook his head. "Please, Gandalf, let's not argue about it again. I know what I know, as Boromir said."

"And you are as stubborn as he is! You both expect too much of yourselves."

"Maybe." said Frodo, unconvinced.

Gandalf vented his frustration by blowing out a particularly smoke ring and watched it float away towards the harbor. It was hard to listen to his frail yet unbelievably strong Mortal friends blame themselves for failure when they had in fact succeeded beyond his wildest hopes. Especially as he himself bore the burden of a far greater and more momentous failure.

A small hand touched his arm. "What are you thinking, Gandalf?"

"Of a mistake I made, long ago, and all the bitter fruit that's come of it." he answered, looking down into grave blue eyes.

"What kind of mistake?" the Ringbearer asked softly.

"I trusted where I should have doubted." The wizard heard himself say, almost involuntarily. He shouldn't be talking to Frodo like this, the Hobbit had enough burdens of his own to bear.

"That sounds like the kind of mistake you would make. It was somebody you cared for very much, wasn't it?"

"My brother." Gandalf closed his eyes against the sudden surge of pain. "He turned to evil and was punished for it. I fooled myself into believing he had changed, seen the error of his ways, and let him go free to work more evil." he took a deep breath, opening his eyes. "I refused to see the brother I had loved was gone, destroyed by his own will and appetites."

"That's not something anybody would want to see, or believe, about somebody they had loved." said Frodo quietly.

The wizard shook his head fiercely. "I should have known better!"

That made the Ringbearer smile, "Now who's expecting too much of himself?"

It wasn't at all the same thing, Manwe Sulimo thought irritably. He was the second born of the thought of Eru and Lord of all Arda - and caught himself up mid-thought. Yet for all that he was still but a creature, fallible and sometimes blind, as much a child of the All Father as the Little One beside him. He let out a long sigh.

"Maybe you're right, Frodo. Perhaps you, Boromir and I must all find a way to forgive ourselves for our failures and move on."

…..

"Don't tell the Elves I said so, but I miss fall - even winter." Frodo confided later that same day sitting on the bench by the round door with another companion.

"You miss death." Boromir said, quite seriously, than smiled apologetically at the Hobbit's shocked look. "I know, it sounds a terrible thing to say yet it is true. We are mortals you and I, born and reared in mortal Middle-Earth where death is a part of life. Without death there can be no birth, no renewal. No change. The old must pass away and be lost so the new can grow. You of all Men - I beg your pardon - Hobbits must know this to be true."

Frodo looked broodingly into the ever blooming brakes of Elvenhome beyond Bilbo's doorstep and nodded slowly. "Yes I know it. I know that the fair as well as the evil of the Elder World had to pass away so the new Age could begin. But it is sad."

"Of course it is sad." Boromir said robustly. "Life is often sad, Little One, as you know only too well but joyful too, sometimes, as I hope you also know."

"Yes, I do know that." Frodo said softly. "I forgot it for a while but I've remembered it now - thanks to you."

"Thanks to your own strength," Boromir said. "But I will accept part of the credit if you wish to give it to me!"

Frodo laughed. "I do." then he looked at little ruefully at the blossoming orchard trees, heavy with apple, pear and cherry, beyond the hedges of the garden. "Flowers and fruit at the same time," he shook his head, "whatever will Sam think of that?"

"Very likely he will think that it is a great wonder and blessing, once he gets used to it." Boromir offered. "He was as happy in Lothlorien as you. I think he will like it here too."

Frodo looked thoughtfully at his friend. "And you were unhappy there, I remember. Was it just your fear for your city and the bite of the Ring as it took hold of you?"

"No doubt that was part of it, but only part." Boromir smiled ruefully. "I am a Man, Frodo, Lorien was alien to me and I could not like it."

"But you were as at home as any of us in Rivendell." the Hobbit protested.

"Rivendell was very different from Lorien." Boromir said firmly. "Its master was half Man, after all, and somehow for all its Elvish look and inhabitants he made his house welcoming to his Mortal kin as well."

"And Mortals who were not kin, like Dwarves and Hobbits." Frodo agreed, continuing pensively: "I liked Lorien, and I like it here too. But I know in my heart that I do not really belong and someday I will want to leave."

"When you are well," Boromir agreed. He turned his head and a moment later Frodo too heard light footsteps coming up the path behind the tall hedge. Then the visitor came round the corner and the two sitting on the doorstep saw it was Elrond himself.

"Speak of trouble - as we say in Gondor." Boromir whispered.

Frodo was still choking on laughter and pipe-smoke when Elrond reached them and made a little bow to the Ringbearer. "Forgive me for interrupting your mirth, Frodo, but I would have a private word with Boromir if I may."

"Of course," he managed to wheeze, "be my guest."

They walked a little ways into the park-like woodland beyond the Hobbits' orchard and sat down on a bench beneath a great chestnut tree.

"Boromir, I have been asked to instruct you in certain arts against your return." Elrond began.

The Man frowned at him. "What arts would these be, my Lord?"

"Ways of seeing and knowing, and of guard and defense against the Shadow."

"No!"

Elrond raised a brow at the force of the refusal and Boromir took breath and moderated his tone. "My Lord, even if I wished to learn such things I could not, my father and brother had power but I do not."

The Half-Elf shook his head. "How can that be, Boromir? The same blood flows in your veins as did in theirs, you must have the same gifts. It is only that unlike Denethor and Faramir you have made no use of them - yet."

"So why cultivate them now?" he demanded. "I am being sent back to Middle Earth as a warrior, Master Elrond, not a wizard!"

"You are being sent as an emissary to fight the Shadow in all its forms." Elrond answered sternly. "And for that you will need both power and the knowledge to use it," his voice softened. "Had you had such teaching perhaps you could have resisted the Ring."

Boromir's face set like iron. "Knowledge and power did not help my father, why should they have helped me? My brother had wisdom enough to refuse what Father and I grasped - and wisdom is something I have never had." he got up from the bench and made a short bow. "I thank you, my Lord, for your interest, but my answer is no. I was chosen for what I am and I will return as I am to do the work set me." He strode away through the trees, back towards the Hobbit hole.

Elrond looked ruefully after him until his tall back, stiffly held, vanished into the green twilight of the wood. A shaft of golden sunlight shimmering on a square of dewed turf formed itself into the Lady Galadriel. She glided forward, bare feet and the trailing hem of her gossamer gown whispering over the grass. Elrond glanced at her sidelong. "I told you he would take it so."

She nodded. "His experience with the Ring has made him fearful of all power."

But Elrond shook his head. "That is only part of it - perhaps the least part. It was not easy even for me to learn to be Elf as well as Man, and I had always known and accepted my mixed nature - as Boromir has not. He is proud to be a Mortal Man, even more so now that he understands more fully what it means to be one. It is natural that he should deny the Elvish side of his nature."

Galadriel's fair brow furrowed in a troubled frown, "Yet he must accept it if he is to be the Emissary the Valar need."

Elrond gave her a wry smile. "It is not the Valar that he serves, Mother. But you are right, he must be made to see that he will need the gifts of both halves of his nature - And I think I know just the one to convince him."

North of Frodo and Bilbo's Hobbit hole the land rose in hills marching along the sea coast. Beneath them there ran a narrow strand of honest sand and stone facing eastward towards the Mortal Lands. Boromir had discovered the place early in his stay and made it his own. He sat now on the pebbled beach looking out over foaming surf and blue waves, no different from those that washed the familiar shores of Belfalas, with the east wind from sweet Middle-Earth full on his face.

The conversation with Elrond had disturbed him deeply. He knew the thin strain of Elvish blood in his mother's veins had bypassed him entirely, as had the more eldritch aspects of his Numenorean heritage. Theodred had often said laughing, that he - Boromir- was more like the swift sons of Eorl than the grave Men of Gondor and he had accepted that as both a compliment and a truth. He was not like his father and brother and the handful of other true High Numenoreans left, which was just as well for Gondor had needed a captain of war, not a loremaster and certainly not a sorceror, as its Steward's Heir and right arm. And it was for his skills as warrior and captain as well as his need for redemption that he was being sent back - wasn't it?

After a time he heard a step crunch the pebbles behind him. He did not need to turn to know who it was; "Mithrandir."

"Boromir." the wizard returned evenly.

"Have you come to try to persuade me, or are you on my side?" Boromir asked.

"Your side?"

"Yes." the Man turned to look at his visitor. The wizard leaned on his white staff, his spotless robes shining against the brown of the sea bluff behind him. "You have known me from childhood, Mithrandir, you of all people must know how impossible it is for me to learn what Elrond would teach."

Bushy white eyebrows rose. "I know nothing of the kind. You are of the pure blood of Numenor with an Elven strain on your mother's side - there is little you could not learn if you set your mind to it. But it seems you will not."

"I cannot!" Boromir blew out a frustrated sigh. "Mithrandir you know me, you know the ancient wisdom of Numenor passed me by. As did any glimmer of Elvishness. Faramir has a touch of it - perhaps more than a touch - but not I."

"Faramir was free to delve into ancient lore and cultivate the wisdom of Westerness and the Elven side of his nature which you were not." the wizard answered quietly. "Denethor taught you early that war and arms must be your study and you accepted that."

"Because that was what Gondor needed," Boromir answered, "and it suited me very well."

"Did it?" the wizard asked. "Can you truly say you never felt any regret, any sense of loss?"

For an instant old memories long buried stirred. Boromir swept them determinedly back into their graves: "Of course not."

The blue eyes, fixed thoughtfully on him, did not waver. "You met Mithrellas, your ancestress, in Lorien did you not?"

"Yes," Boromir answered, a little bewildered by the seeming change of subject.

"Was she so fearsome?"

He laughed out loud, "Far from it. She is very charming and I liked her well."

"Then why are you so determined to deny the heritage of her blood?"

Boromir closed his eyes struggling to keep his temper. "I am not denying it, only saying that it has passed me by. There is nothing Elvish about me, Mithrandir, I am only a Man."

"There is nothing 'only' about being a Man." said the wizard. "But you are not just Man, Boromir. You have Elven blood and the gifts that come with it. Let Elrond teach you how to use them - and the Numenorean heritage you have neglected as well."

"No!" Boromir jumped to his feet in something close to fear. A small, treacherous part of him - perhaps linked to those forgotten memories - accepted the truth of what Mithrandir had said and wanted to learn, to change. But the greater part recoiled in near panic from such knowledge and any heritage beyond that of Men. "The Ring showed me my own weakness, Mithrandir, I do not trust myself with power - nor should you!"

….

Note:

_Gandalf is an Avatar of Manwe, High King of the Valar, though this was hidden even from himself while he dwelt in Middle Earth. Had either Sauron or Saruman realized who he truly was while he was in vulnerable mortal form the results would have been disastrous. (This is not my idea, but a concept Tolkien played with - though he had his doubts about it.)_

_The 'brother' Manwe speaks of is, of course, Melkor. It was Manwe who gave the Great Enemy a second chance after three ages of imprisonment in Mandos. This, of course, was a *BIG* mistake which led directly to the the poisoning of the the Two Trees, the Revolt of the Noldor and War of the Great Jewels. Not to mention the corruption of Sauro,n which in turn led to the forging of the Ring. _


	4. Persuasion

"There you are!" Frodo exclaimed as he opened the door to the Hobbit's hole, then frowned as Boromir ducked through. "What's wrong? What did Elrond have to say - not bad news from home?"

"No, nothing like that." Boromir smiled reassuringly and sat down in the man-sized easy chair Bilbo kept in the parlor. "He made an offer, which I refused."

"An offer that upset you so much you had to go off to your beach to recover." Frodo observed. Boromir looked his surprise. "You have sand on your boots." the Ringbearer explained. "What was it, or would you rather not say?"

The Man smiled wryly. "Lord Elrond wanted to teach me certain arts against my return. What my old friend Theodred would have called 'dwimmer craft' and your Sam magic."

"Oh." Frodo considered. "No, not the sort of thing you'd care for at all."

"It is not!" Boromir agreed with emphasis.

"Still Elrond must have good reason for wanting to teach you." the Hobbit continued. "Maybe you're going to need magic when you go back."

"Need or no I cannot learn it." the Man answered almost defiantly. "My father and brother were gifted with the power, but I am duller clay. The wisdom of Numenor passed me by.

"But you are wise." Frodo said quietly, settling himself in one of Hobbit sized easy chairs. "Not in lore or magic but about people." he grinned. "Look at the way you took Merry and Pippin in hand!"

"I was not wise about you, Ringbearer." Boromir smiled.

"Oh yes you were." the Hobbit said, turning serious. "Once you understood I was not the youngster I looked. You saw inside me as easily as Aragorn or Gandalf. Everything you said in our last conversation was true - that was what was so frightening." Frodo shivered. "It would have been so easy to give in, to do what you wanted, even though I knew it wasn't you but the Ring talking."

Boromir had already apologized more than once to Frodo for his attempt to take the Ring, he didn't bother to do so again. "And there is the crux of the matter. I cannot, dare not trust myself with power, Frodo, not after the Ring. I am too weak, too easily corrupted."

"Not easily." the Hobbit disagreed. "You fought it every step of the way, you know you did, and it's not your fault you lost. Even Gandalf feared the power of the Ring - you heard him say so himself."

Boromir shook his head. They'd argued about that too, more than once, and he wasn't about to go into it again. "I do not trust myself, Frodo. Even if I could learn such things I will not. It is too dangerous."

Boromir knew Mithrandir and Elrond too well to believe that his refusal would end the matter. No doubt they would try again to persuade him - and again, and again after that! but a Man can out stubborn a wizard or even a Half-Elf if he is determined enough - and Boromir was. All he had to do was go on saying no however many times it took.

Days passed and nothing further was said, but Boromir was not reassured. He took to eyeing Mithrandir and Elrond warily whenever they met, wondering what they were plotting. He didn't doubt he would be equal to whatever they came up with but he wished they'd get on with it for the Hobbits' sake. Frodo and Bilbo were becoming distressed by the strain between their friends.

Then, one day as he was sitting on his beach Boromir saw a ship go by. This was not unusual, the white swan ships passed frequently between Eressea and Alqualonde, but this was not a swan ship.

It was both shorter and wider than the other Elven ships Boromir had seen, and weathered grey instead of shining white. And there was an Eagle not a Swan carved upon the prow and the white sail was embroidered with the clustered spears of the House of Hador, a device of Mortal Men, not Elves.

Boromir came to his feet and watched the strange ship till it sailed out of sight around the headland. He was no scholar but he knew the ancient tales as well as any Man of Gondor and it wasn't hard for him to guess whose ship it was.

"This is Tuor, my grandsire." Elrond said, introducing the tall, golden haired Man at his side. "And this is Frodo the Ringbearer, Bilbo the Ring finder and Boromir of Gondor."

Boromir, having seen Earrame sail past on its way to Eldalonde was not entirely taken by surprise but rendered speechless none-the-less. He bowed.

Bilbo and Frodo were surprised but far from speechless - especially Bilbo. "Honored sir, honored. Goodness the people one meets here!"

"It's very exciting for us." Frodo explained.

"And for me." Tuor said, smiling down at the Hobbits. "I am honored to meet the Heroes of the Ring Quest."

"No comparison, my dear sir, no comparison." Bilbo said. "But I suppose you wouldn't mind answering a few questions of mine? Old songs never do tell all the details one wants do they?" and with that he took Tuor son of Huor familiarly by the arm and led him off. Frodo shot a half humorous, half apologetic look at Elrond and hurried after them.

Man and Half-Elf looked at each other. Boromir was certain Tuor's arrival was somehow Elrond and Gandalf's long awaited next move - though he couldn't imagine how - and Elrond's impenetrable gaze only confirmed him in that opinion.

"If only Faramir were here!" he said.

Elrond's lips quirked in a smile, he had met Boromir's brother in Minas Tirith before he left Middle Earth. "He would have even more questions than Bilbo."

Boromir chuckled. "Or at least as many!"

They both looked across Lord Elrond's spacious reception hall at the Hobbits and Man. Bilbo had led them to a cluster of chairs on the seaward side. The cool breeze coming through the open colonnade ruffled his hair as he sat forward in his oversized seat talking eagerly. Boromir wondered if Tuor had managed to get a word in yet. Even as he had the thought he saw Frodo touch his uncle's arm. The older Hobbit fell silent and leaned back, looking expectantly at Tuor as the man began to speak.

"Where is the Lady Idril?" Boromir asked, after glancing around and seeing no golden haired Elven woman among the many dark and silver fair.

"Visiting her kin in Tirion." Elrond answered. "But Grandfather grows restless if he is too long from the sea."

"I can understand that." the Man said with an emphasis that made his host smile. Boromir saw it and gave back a wry little grin. He had spoken true to Frodo, he was a warrior born and had rested long enough. The peace of Eldamar cloyed and seemed to wrap him round like chains. He wondered suddenly if the half-Man Elrond ever felt the same.

"Sometimes." the other said in answer to the thought. And smiled again, ruefully, as Boromir looked his surprise. "In Middle Earth I felt very much the Elf. But here in Westerness I realize I am far more Man than I ever dreamed." he sighed, folding his arms. "I chose to be numbered among the Elder Kindred, and I do not regret it. But I cannot change my nature or the blood in my veins - nor would I if I could."

"But you must live through all the ages of the world with a divided heart." Boromir answered. "Surely, you see why I do not wish to invite such a fate!"

Elrond looked at him steadily with luminous grey eyes. "But you cannot change your nature anymore than I, however much you may stifle your Elven half."

Boromir snorted. "Scarcely a half. A thin drop or two at the most."

"Certainly you have all the stubborness of a mortal Man." Elrond said dryly.

"That I do." Boromir agreed, with satisfaction.

Tuor was as tall and golden as any Noldorin prince but his beauty was of another kind. The lean, chiseled features and deep set eyes reminded Boromir irresistibly of Aragorn - Tuor's distant descendant. The sense of kinship was instantaneous; this was a Man like himself without the eerie otherworldliness of the Elves or the innocence of the Hobbits.

"How do you stand it?" Boromir blurted, then reddened in confusion.

But Tuor only smiled a little ruefully. "I spend a lot of time at sea." the farseeing grey eyes turned outward, towards the waves rolling ashore far below the terrace on which they stood. "The sea is change, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, like us Men." his smile took on a wry twist. "No doubt that is why we love it, and its Lord so. And why he understands us as neither Elves nor the other Valar do."

"Manwe at least understands us better than he did." Boromir said.

Tuor looked at him in surprise. "So I have heard." he nodded thoughtfully. "I believe our Lords and Elder Kin have underestimated you a trifle, kinsman."

"Just misestimated." said Boromir. "A habit of theirs when it comes to our kind, I think."

"True enough." They stood for a time in silence, leaning companionably side by side against a parapet carved in the shape of swans and branching trees. Finally Tuor spoke: " I have spent almost all my life among Elves. I was raised by the Sindar of Lake Mithrim, then dwelt in Gondolin and later the Haven of Sirion. I took an Elven wife and for her sake have chosen to be counted among the Elder Kindred - and yet in spite of all I remain a Mortal Man in thought and feeling and nature."

After a long moment Boromir replied: "I understand what you are saying, my Lord. But my case is a little different. Your grandson claims an Elven nature sleeps within me, inherited from a distant ancestress. But I do not wish to be other than what I am, let it sleep on!"

Tuor shook his head, smiling sympathetically. "You needn't fear turning into an Elf, my friend. As the saying goes, just as watered wine savors more of wine than of water; so the half-Elven are more Man than Elf." His face went grave. "Both Kindreds are Children of Eru but the Elves belong to this world while we Men come from His hand then return to Him beyond the bounds of Arda, and so are free of the bonds of fate.

"All who carry Mortal blood, in greater or lesser part, share that heritage and that power. It is for that freedom and power the to reshape destiny that you were chosen, Boromir. The teaching Elrond offers will do no more than give you the weapons you need for your task."

Boromir bit his lip. "I hear what you say, my Lord, and yet I fear myself, my own weakness. I have not fared well in matters of Power."

"So I have heard." Tuor answered. "But you are not the Man you were then, my friend. You are a thrice tempered blade, steeled by your trials. Now you know your peril and are on guard against it."

"I do not feel tempered," answered Boromir, "but weaker and more uncertain of myself than I have ever been."

Tuor laughed. "So you should! Knowledge of one's own weakness is the first step on the road of wisdom."

Boromir snorted. "Then I have become wise indeed!"

Tuor sobered. "I believe you have. Perhaps wiser than even the Wise deem for, as you say, they have never been good judges of Men."

"Then it may be I am wiser in refusing Elven teachings then they are in offering it." Boromir countered.

The other Man laughed aloud. "A touch, a veritable touch I do confess. Very well then, Boromir, consult your wisdom and see if it is that which holds you back or fears that no longer have meaning."

Boromir shifted uneasily. He didn't believe in this supposed 'wisdom' of his, but on the other hand he didn't like to think himself as bound by pointless fear. "I will think on it." he promised.


	5. Lessons

Boromir shook his head stubbornly. "I am sorry, Mithrandir, but that I cannot and will not believe! We make our destinies we are not bound by them."

"For Men that is true." Gandalf explained patiently. "But the rest of us are more limited. We must follow the chords of the Music."

"So it was the Music that made you lay down your kingship, take mortal flesh and go into Middle Earth?" Boromir asked openly skeptical.

Gandalf blew out a sigh. "We are not puppets, my friend, we have Free Will, but we cannot change Fate as you Men can -" belatedly the full implications of Boromir's words registered. The wizard came to a full stop on the blossom drifted ground of the orchard, turned and stared.

Boromir, who had been waiting for it, smiled a little smugly enjoying the reaction.

It took Gandalf a moment to get his breath back. "How - Did the One tell you?"

"He didn't have to. I was permitted to hear the Powers debate my return and I have heard you quarrel with my father far to many times to mistake your voice raised in anger." he laughed aloud at the look on the wizard's face, recovered himself and made a gesture of apology. "Forgive me, but if you wish to be treated with the reverence due the Elder King you must not look like my old friend Mithrandir."

"As to that I have little choice. I am flesh now and will remain so until the End." Gandalf answered.

"A very great change." Boromir pointed out, suddenly serious.

"Yes it is." the wizard sat down on a bench beneath a great blossoming cherry tree. "I have known hunger and thirst, pain of wounds and all the other inconveniences of the flesh. I have known the Children as my fellows, not my subjects. I have been as one of them and I am changed." he smiled wryly up at the Man. "Your old friend Mithrandir is who I am now, who I have become."

Boromir sat down next to him. "The thought of my friend Mithrandir holding the fates of the world in his hands is not an entirely comfortable one." he said, a note of teasing in his voice.

Gandalf grimaced. "It has been a very long time since that was true. The Fate of Arda lies now with the Younger Children, including you, my friend."

"And that is an even less comforting thought." said Boromir.

"It makes me afraid." Gandalf admitted frankly. "And yet it also gives me hope. I have seen Men do great evil. Yet I have also seen them achieve great good against terrible odds - and recently too." he smiled quickly then turned grave again. "Arda is marred and I cannot mend it. But, you Boromir and other Men can. It is within your power not to restore the old Music but to make a new one; cleansed free of evil and richer and more varied then the first."

"Or to bring all down in Darkness forever." said the Man grimly.

"I do not believe that will happen." Gandalf said with fierce energy. "I have known Men and I believe in them. More importantly the One believes in his Children and trusts in them. He cannot be mistaken."

"No He cannot." Boromir agreed softly.

The One trusted Men. He trusted Boromir. Walking slowly back to the Hobbit hole the Man sighed and wished he dared trust in himself. Still so far the lessons, to which he had agreed only on condition he be allowed to end them at will with no questions or arguments, had been far from alarming; discussions of philosophy, discourses on history, much of it things he already knew but had never thought on having more urgent matters to give his mind to.

Truth be told he'd found his lessons rather pleasant than otherwise. They reminded him of the good times, after the children and come home to live and before Father and Faramir had begun their undeclared war. Of lively discussions over family meals and around the hearth in the evenings. Faramir and Father eagerly debating obscure points of lore while Idril listened, reserving judgment, and Boromir himself smiled indulgently not really listening but savoring the warmth of family companionship.

What had he been expecting? Boromir asked himself as he ducked through the round door and walked stooped down the passage to his room, spells and dwimmercraft? He wasn't that ignorant. He knew very well the arts his father had practiced were far more subtle. But his was not a subtle mind. Perhaps he'd been right all along, maybe he wasn't capable of learning what Gandalf and Elrond were trying to teach - in which case there was nothing to worry about at all.

"He's quick, far quicker than I had expected." Elrond observed.

Gandalf nodded a little ruefully. "He always had the mind, all he needed was the teaching."

"I begin to be angry with this father of his." Elrond continued. "What was he thinking?"

Gandalf sighed. "Denethor was wise and subtle but had no skill in war or with Men. He sought to make his heir everything he was not - and desired to be."

"A not uncommon tendency in parents." Elrond acknowledged and sighed. His children were lost, at least as long as the World lasted, mortal Men and Woman with Aman closed to them but ultimately free of the trammels of Arda.

Gandalf said nothing, there was nothing to say. After a moment Elrond continued. "Whatever his reasons he gravely wronged his son."

"He was not the only one." the wizard said grimly.

The Lady Galadriel was another of Boromir's teachers and he was far more wary of her than of either Gandalf or Elrond. She was alien, pure Elf with no tinge of Man, and no real understanding of them for all she was she was Finrod Felagund's sister. Perhaps it was because he was always somewhat on his guard with her that he first noticed the change while in her company.

They were sitting beneath the flowering boughs of the mallorn trees she had caused to grow around her airy, east gazing halls, the fallen leaves making a golden floor beneath their feet as she spoke of her rejection of the Pardon and her long years of exile. The words were cool and considered, the musical voice serene, but he could sense the pain of wounded pride, of homesickness, of anger, and of a shameful lust for power running beneath like an underground river

Moved by an old anger of his own he drew from that darkling stream the bitterest memories she had and gave them back to her clear and vivid as if they had happened yesterday rather than three Ages of the World ago:

The young Galadriel, then known as Nerwen, sitting at table with Morgoth, then called Melkor and fair and wise in seeming, the fire of ambition kindling in her heart as she listened to him speak of freedom and rule in far Middle Earth. An older Nerwen watching Aqualonde burn, a blade dripping with the blood of her Noldorin kin in her hands, grief and anger raging in her heart - but overcome by pride and the ambition that had become her guiding passion. And how that same ambition and pride had barred her from the Pardon of the Valar and forced her to pretend - even to herself - that she didn't desire it.

The Lady gave a little cry of pain and her eyes filled with tears, one crystal drop rolling down her smooth cheek. Instantly dismayed and remorseful Boromir apologized.

"My lady, forgive me. That was uncalled for."

She shook her head, wiping her eyes with a gossamer sleeve, suddenly vulnerable as any mortal woman. "It was not. Did I not once do much the same to you?"

"You did." he agreed. "But you meant it kindly, as I did not."

Galadriel smiled tremulously. "My intentions did not make the experience any less painful for you. I am glad you realize I meant well," she sighed, "but whatever my intent I succeeded only in increasing your torment of mind. I am truly sorry for it."

She was. Boromir could read her sincerity as plainly as he'd ever read a nervous recruit or soul shaken soldier of the Tower. Gently he said; "For what it's worth I doubt there was anything you could have done to help me as I was then."

She sighed. "There was one thing, but that was what we could not do."

"Send me away." he said and smiled faintly. "I wouldn't have gone."

"So Aragorn said." she sighed again. "He believed it was too late for that and preferred you under his eye."

Boromir nodded judiciously. "I would have said the same in his place."

"You are much alike in some ways." said the Lady. "And very different in others." she smiled apologetically. "Aragorn is the only Man I have ever known well. I was misled by the likeness and didn't see the difference until it was too late."

"Sheep seem much alike, save to shepherds." Boromir quoted lightly and was rewarded by the Lady's smile.

It wasn't until long after he had left Galadriel that just what he'd done dawned on Boromir, shaking him to the soul. Not only had he read the Lady's thoughts but drawn on them to place images in her mind - as she had done to him long ago in Lorien.

"How could I do that?" he demanded anguished of Gandalf. "How did I know how to do it, what have you done to me?"

"Very little. The potential was always within you, we but encouraged it to grow."

"You've always been able to read minds and hearts." Frodo pointed out gently. "You know you have."

Boromir shook his head helplessly. His insight into Men - and others - he'd accepted as a matter of course but - "This is different."

"Only in degree, not in kind." said Gandalf.

The three of them sat over their empty supper dishes in the Hobbits' little dining room, the air clouded with pipe smoke and the evening stars shining bright as jewels in the royal blue sky outside the round windows.

"Most Dunedain have such powers," Bilbo said soothingly, "it's as natural to you as a gift for cookery is to us Hobbits."

The tightness in Boromir's chest loosened a little. That was true, his father and Faramir had touched minds and memories with him many, many times. Perhaps it wasn't all that surprising to find a similar power within himself. Just uncomfortable.

"I am not accustomed to such things." he said.

"We know," Gandalf answered, "the purpose of our teaching is to make you accustomed."

"In which case we still have far to go." Boromir said dryly. Still he relaxed a little, not quite realizing he had taken the first step towards accepting his new nature - and its burdens.


End file.
